


Sugar Cubed

by enkiduu



Category: Ant-Man (2015), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Hank's A+ Parenting, His plans are more of a go with the flow and hopefully things will work out, Humor, M/M, Multi, Not how plans should be, Not how relationships should be, Scott plans to fix that, attempt at plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkiduu/pseuds/enkiduu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Coffee?" he offers, and plops three sugars in, staring as they dissolve. The atoms separate in distance, further and further apart. Eventually, the sugar will disintegrate into nothingness, and only the sweetness of coffee will last. It's funny, how for their whole lives, they've worked on shrinking the distance, but succeeded at the exact opposite. </p><p>"Uh, no thanks," Scott says. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you staring at coffee like it's the answer to all of life's problems? You need to go out more."</p><p>"No, it's the source of all my problems, you idiot."</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank considers Darren, blue eyes full of disappointment. It's a clinical observation, like he's a lab rat. An experiment gone wrong, and now Hank's on Trial Number Two, decades later, hoping for an improvement. 
> 
> "You used to be much better at this," Darren says, moving away, stung. He's not a failure.

The door isn't even locked.

Darren wonders if it's a dare, wonders if he should take offence that a paranoid scientist like Hank Pym has such poor security. 

Perhaps Hank knew Darren would be visiting. But that's a pathetic thought. He extinguishes the twinge of hope. If Hank were expecting him, the mansion would be far more secure than this.

The kitchen is clean, smelling faintly of sweet coffee, but there is not a single stain on the counter. Darren rummages through the cabinets, finding a packet of coffee beans. As he rips open the packet, his gaze lingers on the extra sets of silverware.

Except, Darren knows they're not extra, not for late night guests such as him.

They're not for guests at all.

Coffee beans splatter on the floor like a gunshot— _shit_. An apology almost makes its way out of his mouth before he catches himself, and it turns into a laugh. 

There's no earthly reason to feel betrayed. Voices whisper in his ear. He knew, already, he _knew_. This changes nothing. He's not going to ruin this.  

Briefly, Darren entertains the idea of cleaning the mess up—it's petty not to, probably against some rule that says don't trespass and spill coffee beans all over the ground— but Darren is not Hank's assistant, no matter who points out he's brewing coffee for him right now. Besides, he's allowed this one mistake.

Everything he does is a mistake to Hank. 

The drawer thuds shut.

 

Hank isn't back yet when the coffee is done, so Darren strolls into his room. The place is as cluttered as he remembers it to be. Papers are thrown around in no particular fashion, and books are missing from their library, foxed pages open to diagrams on the table. It's almost as if nothing has changed.

He used to be the one to pick up pieces Hank left behind. Even now, long after Darren should have stopped, he's finding that this time, he's the broken piece Hank abandoned. 

Hank could've just asked for the plans. He could've up whipped up some excuse, probably, one that both of them would have known was a lie. But Darren would've liked to believe. He always does. 

Then Darren remembers that Hank has chosen some angelic protégé ( _not Darren, no, this one is special, this one he actually_ trusts). His knuckles go white against the handle and he places the fragile mug aside onto a table before he can smash it into a million furious pieces on the floor. 

It's too late to fix things, Darren knows. Hank is too stubborn for that. 

But the clock is still ticking, and desperation screams at him, reminds him, that there's still a chance. 

 

Finally, footsteps and voices break the silence of the night. Darren listens, but he's not hearing anything really important. He tilts his head and waits, listening to Hank throwing out a one-sided argument, waits for him to relent. 

It ends with a shared round of soft, pleased laughs, and Darren stands up, fighting away a frown. He unconsciously distances himself from Hank's bed. 

"No champagne," he says, and that is how he greets Hank: a cheerful smile. "You're much more of a coffee person, I remember." 

Shock floods Hank's expression, in the way he tenses, his frosty blue eyes widening ever so slightly. The same expression Hope wears whenever she sees him do something necessary. "Darren," he replies stiffly, and he doesn't close the door behind him. It seems to be a bad habit of his, always trusting others to have his back.

And Darren knows that, because they're so _alike_ no matter how Hope would like to pretend, it's going to transition into ugly pity. Then crushing disappointment. Then a bitter rue. Darren doesn't understand why they both think he's so far gone that they can't look at him with anything but pain and contempt. At least Hope doesn't have this wistfulness in her eyes. 

"Oh. No worries, Hank. Three sugars, just as you liked it." 

"And what exactly," Hank murmurs distractedly, "are you celebrating?" 

"We are celebrating the success of Cross Technologies!" Darren smiles, walking close, proffering the coffee. "The success of the Yellowjacket." 

Hank's lips thin. "Congratulations."

"The opening night of the deal," Darren continues. Mentors are supposed to be glad to hear their protégés are doing well. "You'll come, won't you? You are the inspiration, after all. I've finally worked out the formula. It would've been better, had we done it together."

No reply. The older scientist's focus is on something else, distant. Even here, when Darren is standing in front of him, so close, Hank's attention isn't his. 

 _ **Look** at me. See me. Aren't you _ proud _?_

"Well? Aren't you proud?" he asks. It sounds like a pathetic plea to his ears, but the words come out mocking and bitter. He's doing good, now. The Yellowjacket will carry out what the Antman couldn't. Hydra is powerful, they will keep world peace, unlike SHIELD's failures. 

"Darren _..._ " he trails off. The air's so heavy on their shoulders. Somewhere in the background, there's a clatter by the table, some insignificancy eaten by the darkness. Neither of them bothers to look over. 

It's not fucking fair. Darren struggles to keep his composure, steadies his shaky smile. He's not going to let Hank ruin this. He thrusts the mug into Hank's hands, and ignores his own unstable ones. Shaking does not a good scientist make. "You will be," he settles with that, then grins playfully. "It's good coffee." 

Hank considers Darren, blue eyes full of disappointment. It's a clinical observation, like he's a lab rat. An experiment gone wrong, and now Hank's on Trial Number Two, decades later, hoping for an improvement. 

"You used to be much better at this," Darren says, moving away, stung. He's not a failure. 

"What is 'this'?" he asks warily.

This? What is this? Oh, Darren doesn't know. Pretending. Lying. Maybe fixing things. Play pretend long enough, and people will forget what's not real. 

"Having conversations," he says numbly, holding up Janet's photo. She smiles effusively at him. He feels sick. 

Darren isn't welcome here. He hasn't been, not for a long time. 

"I could help you," Darren says suddenly, frustrated. "If you would just let me." Let me in. Trust me. 

Hank will let him break into his mansion, use what remained of his company, even keep Hope by his side. But Hank won't let Darren help him. He's too stubborn. 

"Things have changed," Hank says wearily. 

He doesn't know why Hank thinks that matters to Darren. "Because you let them." Darren closes his eyes and when he opens them again, his lashes are wet. "Why me? What did you see in me?" 

"I saw myself," Hank answers, and it is just about the worst answer imaginable. "So brilliant." He makes it sound like a disease. 

"Then—" _god_ — "why did you _stop_?" 

Hank blinks, inhaling slowly, and the response is so predictable, so horrible. "I saw too much of myself in you."

 _Hypocrite,_ Darren wants to laugh.  

He takes a breath, steps back, one, two, three. Darren smiles. 

They're not on the same side, he knows. That's what is real to Hank. No matter how much he tries to do good, Darren is not enough just because his methods are different. He's trying so hard...But now, Hank is in his way. Darren knows. 

 

"See you there, Hank." 

 

"Goodbye, Darren." 

 

 

( _Now he just has to_ remember.)

 

 

 

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darren Cross signs out of the house without any casualties, and Scott thinks he can get some rest. A nice and warm shower, finally...

"Alright," he says, later. Is he done? Scott is so done. Initially, he wanted to celebrate, just a little, that he had succeeded in infiltrating the Avengers' headquarters. Now the only thing he wants to celebrate is that he's not dead yet. "I'm just going to go take a shower, maybe get a good night's sleep. We can save the world from insane scientists tomorrow." 

In the kitchen, Hank scoffs wryly at that. 

Scott's really tired. He just stole (ahem, _borrowed_ ) from the Avengers, which felt all supervillain-y, but that's okay, he'll just phone Falcon eventually to apologize. It's cool. He hopes. Because if (when) the Avengers hunt him down, Scott has a bad feeling that the whole "saving the world" excuse isn't going to impress them much.

 _Ding_. 

Hope's cellphone chimes cheerfully. 

Scott exhales. What are the chances, right? Hopefully, it's just a call from work.

Then he remembers that Hope's boss is Darren Cross. Well, shit. Unfortunately, it will be a call from work. And it's one that might render all their efforts futile. 

Hey, on the bright side, it can't get that much worse than it already is. No matter what happens, the unveiling for the Yellowjacket will still happen, if Darren wants the project to succeed. 

For some reason, both Hank and Hope Pym are still staring into space. Hank's focusing on his mug as if trying to shrink it out of existence, while Hope gives the doomed impression that she would rather die than answer the call. 

These people brood way too much, they don't act enough. Or maybe they act too much. They should all be actors in a movie, except Scott is the only one who didn't get the memo that _nope_ , this is apparently not an action movie, because what the hell is with all the drama? 

"I think you should pick that up," Scott suggests helpfully. Hope shoots him an unamused look, and he apologizes quickly before he gets a call from her fist again. He touches his jaw, still sore. In fact, now that he thinks about it, his whole body aches. He probably shouldn't think about it. 

(In his defence, or lack thereof...he hadn't been expecting it.) 

As Hope picks up the phone, Scott wonders whether Hope's cover has been blown. **  
**

"Darren?" 

" _Hope. Where are you right now?_ " Darren's voice comes out rushed, and damn, does he sound dangerous. Scott wouldn't want to be talking to him right now without the Ant-Man suit. But then, he supposes, there'd be substantially more fighting than talking. And reformed Scott doesn't like fighting, definitely not at all. This Ant-Man gig is all just temporary. 

"I'm at home. Why?" Hope lies smoothly, and the only thing suggesting her worry is her clenched hands. Then again, Scott supposes it's not technically a lie. Hank _is_ her father, and they made up with that touchy-feely moment. That'd been heartwarming, and he desperately wishes Cassie will understand him, without the whole estranged daughter-father fiasco. But Hope speaks so convincingly for someone whose cover might already be blown. 

There's a long, tense silence before Darren says, " _I met with Hank. Invited him to the unveiling. He wasn't too pleased_." He sounds more controlled—heavy breathing having calmed to something less erratic—but strangely, more emotionally unstable. But not...not enraged just for the sake of being indignant. He sounds like he's on the edge of heartbreak, just refusing to believe he is.

Scott doesn't like this. He didn't sign up for a tragic story either. 

"What happened?" Hope asks delicately. Her eyes dart worriedly towards her father, and Scott follows her gaze intently. Hank's brows crease, but he doesn't avert his attention from the coffee, and Scott doesn't get what's so troubling about coffee. Speaking of, where did that come from? Oh right. Darren Cross.

" _The Yellowjacket isn't good enough for him_ ," Darren seethes. " _Nothing ever satisfies him. You should know. He's always up in his own mind, he doesn't give a damn about us. He wasn't there for you as a father. He doesn't trust me, as my mentor. He's so selfish. Nothing but contempt, Hope. I get nothing but contempt from him._ " 

She looks like her head's splitting in two. Bringing a hand up to her temple, Hope's lips part, but she ultimately says nothing, resigned. It seems like they're closer than Scott originally thought.

How are people who care about each other so much capable of such cruelty?

Scott decides that he hates this.

" _He'll change his mind,_ " Darren continues fiercely, sounding so sure, so determined. Scott shakes his head slowly, astonished. " _I'll make him accept us. It's not too late yet. At the unveiling, he'll see that we're right. But I think he's planning something. I know he is. I'm going to triple security all around. I won't let him ruin this._ " There's a short pause. " _I'm so lucky to have you, Hope,_ " he sighs, genuinely grateful, instead of wry and bitter.  _"Thank you."_

Wow.

Just, _wow_.

Scott knows that they're quite messed up and that Hank hasn't exactly been the model father figure, but...actually seeing this side of Darren Cross who was just another empty name in the papers a mere month ago is pretty depressing. And seeing how Hope and Hank react (or not react at all) is even more depressing, because they're just letting him fall, despite it being so obvious it pains them. 

Does Darren really believe that redemption is possible, and that Hope is on his side?

Scott doesn't think Darren even knows he's doing wrong. Damn. That's sad. 

Scott winces. What is with these powerful people and their shitty relationships? Seriously, not good for the psyche. And why is Darren Cross the only one here who's trying to do anything about it?

...Granted, his methods do need a little work. A lot of work.

As in,  _not threatening humanity's freedom_ work. 

Well, Scott knows for sure he won't let this happen to him, too. He _will_  be happy with his family, with _Cassie_ , and...

"Good night, Darren," Hope says, and Scott's surprised by how softly she speaks.

" _Good night, Hope. See you tomorrow._ " 

Hope waits for him to hang up, and Scott wonders what that says about her. He's really curious what's happened between them. But although it doesn't take a genius to guess, he's not going to assume. 

"So...work called?" 

"This is bad," says Hope, and Scott nods wisely, completely agreeing. She leans on the wall, and Scott feels like offering his shoulder is just going to get him punched again. Hope is a strong woman. She's dealt with Darren for god knows how long. Growing up as she did was tough, and it's made her tough. "When Darren says he's tripling security, he means it. We're not going to be able to get in."

"There has to be _some_ way," Scott says dubiously, always the optimist. "We got into the Avengers' facility."

"And you are lucky you're not Ash-Man," Hope says dryly. "Word spreads fast."

Scott is still bewildered by the network these people have. Yeah, he's heard Luis talk, and the stretch of information is frankly, quite ridiculous, but he still can't believe that word spreads like incendiary gossip, nor how people prefer listening to tall-tales over risking underestimating an enemy. After Ant-Man, though, Scott thinks that maybe the tall-tales out there aren't so tall anymore. 

"It can't be that bad." Right?

"Darren is obsessively paranoid," Hank says darkly, the first words he's said since Darren left. He's been abnormally quiet, sulking over the past, Scott guesses. He strongly suggests just having a family dinner, the three of them talking about it, maybe rebuild some bridges, but the world is at risk here.

If Darren is being paranoid, Scott thinks he's not doing a very good job at it. Because if so, there's no way he doesn't know Hope is on Hank's side, and Hank isn't on his. Scott raises his eyebrows. Honestly, he sounded like he trusts Hope, and really wants to still trust Hank. He doesn't know if Darren is actually naïve (unlikely), willingly ignorant, or some mastermind who's playing them for fun. 

"Besides the extra layers of security, he won't trust seeing me anywhere but beside him. We need a new plan," Hope says, frustrated. There's not much time. 

They can't just give up on this so easily. There must be a way. There is always another way. For the unveiling, the buildings need to be running, and...

C'mon. Think small. Think ant-sized. Think something normal people would overlook. Something impossible. 

"Hold on." Scott's lips draw into a slow grin. He has just the idea. "The waterways can't be blocked, no matter how secure he makes the building." 

"Impossible," Hank shoots it down immediately, but they have no other options. At least, not one anyone sane will approve of.  

"Impossible by us alone, yes. However," Scott smirks, "I know some people, and we've got ants." 

Hank finally looks up. He walks towards the sink and tips the mug over. Scott feels a twinge of guilt. "Well? We have all night. Let's get going." 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who are reading, and I appreciate the kudos! Super nervous, but after watching Ant-Man, I just really need to write this, because ow, feels. I hope you enjoy.


	3. Three

The shrunken Yellowjacket suit drops back into its case. The small streaks of vibrant yellow gleam in the darkness.

" _I saw too much of myself in you._ " The words haunts Darren's mind, that quietly repressed pain in the familiar sharp tone. 

"Too much?" Darren echoes out loud, and the vast, empty room amplifies his hollow voice. "I never meant to be you. I meant to surpass you. And I _have_. Why can't you see that?" he wonders, but the voice in his head doesn't shut up. Hank never did shut up for others' sake. "You never get anything right, Hank."

He has never wanted to be a copy of Hank.

Not from the start, when he'd been a small, hopeful boy, a _nobody,_  studying science at MIT and vying for the Great Henry Pym's attention. Certainly not now.

Darren has separated his persona from Hank's. The world has never seen Darren as a shadow of the scientist. Absolutely no one can deny how lucrative Pym Tech has become after he stepped up, although there are rather unpleasant rumours. Darren is the businessman, he's the innovator, he's the only genius who is actually willing to act.

Hank Pym had been close, but then he gave up because something went wrong and Janet vanished.

Tony Stark had been closer, but then he abruptly backed out because he was afraid to get his hands dirty, chained by something pointless and weak called guilt.

So Darren is  _not a copy,_ not of anyone, because he hasn't ever stopped moving forward.

 

Besides, even if he dies trying, Darren can't be as innovative as Hank _refuses_ to be.

 

Hank is the only man who will have Darren's complete respect and admiration. But Hank doesn't respect him. Mentors are supposed to build the potential in their protégés, not stunt it. One day, Darren simply found himself as the only one who could institute real progress at Pym Tech. Hank would only ever retreat from progress because he'd be scared. A leader can't be scared. 

The only reason Hank had chosen him was because he saw _himself_. Not the potential to be his own person? Had Hank never believed in him? 

"— _too much of_ myself—" 

And choosing Darren because he saw himself in him was the only thing Hank has been right about; and it was so, so wrong. The astonishing tall tales of Ant-Man, the Pym Particle...Darren just couldn't let go of that obsession. Evidently, he still can't. 

It's not Darren's fault. If anyone else had access to the scrapped plans of Hank, they'd also be enthralled. But Darren knows to keep them secret, just between Hank and him. The genius of Hank Pym was too cowardly to use his genius. The abundance of abandoned ideas, all with so much potential, especially the Pym Particle. Darren was _awed._ And Darren despises how Hank lets all that go to waste. He intended to let Darren go to waste, as well.

Just another project, scrapped.

 

You don't just give up on a person like that.   

 

"— _so_ brilliant—"

 

"You even said I'm brilliant!" Darren shouts harshly, he's brilliant just like Hank, and suddenly his clenched fists are pressed against the cage, the force of impact reverberating. The glass remains umarred. "Now I've done what you never could! So shut up and watch." 

He glares at the Yellowjacket suit, which stares soullessly back at him. Empty. A promise of something, something better. 

"Thank you," he says after a period of silence. He turns off the lights, walks out, and sets the security system, locking down the room. It's so tightly secure that even an ant couldn't get in.

When he sees what Darren has accomplished, Hank will acknowledge that Darren has done something right. Darren is the future of war. He's revolutionizing the tech world. Cross Technologies will be at the vanguard of advanced espionage and warfare. And with such power, something as fickle and fleeting as world peace will finally be reached and realistically _enforced_.

Darren's doing good. Isn't he? Hydra are willing to help sanction that peace. Isn't that what Hank wanted, when he got tangled in SHIELD's shit? So yes. He is. He has to be. 

 

Then why is Hank mentoring someone else?

Darren sneers, remembering. His eyes burn in the darkness. 

Scott. Lang.

He's a _nobody_. He doesn't deserve Hank's attention. 

What does Hank see in him, that he didn't see in Darren?

Darren doesn't understand. But he intends to. 

 


	4. Four

Scott stuffs his face into a pillow. The sun hasn't woken the day up yet, so his room is comfortably shrouded by shadows. He couldn't fall asleep, not with all the residual energy in him. Luis, Dave, and Kurt have finally gone to rest after a giddy night of "whoa bro, that is _so_ much cooler than how the suit looks," and "heeeey, Scotty, we're friends, wanna gimme a try? I promise I won't break it!"

The expression on Luis' face was quite hilarious when Hank interfered. 

"If technical difficulties come up, the suit isn't going to shrink properly," Hank said casually. "You might end up with tiny T-Rex arms and lose the ability to pass on your genetic traits." 

Luis' jaw dropped open in aghast understanding, then he nodded reverently at Scott, who huffed out a laugh. "You're the man, man. Unless you're no longer a man. That's cool too, you're doing it for the greater good. I once knew someone who lost his family jewels—"

"Sorry, Luis, no time for stories," Scott interrupted, amused and a little scared of what Luis had to say, "I'll get you a mango fruit blast once this is over, if that makes you feel any better. And, yes, the 'family jewels' are intact." 

"Sweet!" Luis exclaimed, and he was taking the consolation a lot better than Scott had. "Of course it will. I love smoothies!" 

"We're doomed," Hank said despairingly. 

The memory brings a smile to his lips. He kicks his feet off the bed and stretches drowsily, yawning.  

Hope's preparing for the unveiling on Thursday, which means they've got three days, and they have to make it count. They need to prepare for a massive bug extermination. Scott doesn't want to imagine what would happen if they are to fail. Hank's still holding his grudge against the Avengers because of a Stark being on the team. He thinks it'd be much less risky if they'd just ask, but after hearing about the super mega giant death robot, Scott thinks Tony Stark isn't exactly sane. 

The Ant-Man helmet stares encouragingly at him. Scott remembers seeing it for the first time and thinking it was just some weird-but-kinda-cool motorcycle suit. For a superhero, though, the suit is pretty lacking in fashion-sense. 

It's unbelievable that that'd been just a few days ago. 

This—riding ants in the sky and imitating a superhero— is his life, for at least another three more days. And after that, Scott only _might_ be dead. If he's not, he'll be a hero to the person who matters most.

He'll be the hero Cassie already thinks he is. Scott won't let her down, not like how he has let Maggie down...He can't wait to see the happiness that'll adorn Cassie's face, and he'll actually _deserve_ it, then. Maybe.  

Cassie has had to deal with such horrible shit, and she's only seven. It's not fair. Scott hopes her friends at school aren't asking why his dad is a criminal, that would suck. Scott sighs. He doesn't blame Maggie for divorcing him (he can't say he's not hurt, though, he'd been hoping to return into her waiting arms...). Paxton is a good man. Plus, he has a stable job in being a cop (c'mon, Maggie, a cop?) and he's protective of them. If Scott can't be there (right now, he isn't, no matter how much he wants to), at least she'll have a strong father figure in her childhood. But he's trying his best to make his way back. 

So, possibly becoming an actual hero, _her_ hero? Pretty good deal, he has to say. Besides, the Yellowjacket must be stopped before it's distributed en masse. The thought of such a technology being in the wrong hands, such as a terrorist group, is terrifying, and he won't let Cassie live in a world like that.

They have to stop Cross Tech. If they must blow up Pym Tech too, then so be it, it's their best option, and the most right thing to do. They'll evacuate everyone, and the original founder of the company wants the company gone, anyways. Scott wonders how Hank felt, to be ousted by his own daughter and the son-he-never-had. 

After getting dressed, Scott heads downstairs. He's ready for the day. 

***

Apparently, this man has the impeccable ability to show up where he's not expected.

Scott squints, and Darren Cross stares back coolly.

Scott is too tired, from the past events and the lack of sleep. That makes sense. It'll go away soon. This must be a hallucination, he concludes. (He'll blame the lapse in judgement on exhaustion, later.)

Scott nods at the hallucination, briefly wondering why he's seeing Darren Cross of all people in such vivid hallucinations, before dismissing it and preparing his breakfast. He hums quietly to himself as he makes pancakes.

"How rude. No good morning to me?" the tall figure drawls, affronted, not used to being dismissed (by people other than Hank, who isn't so much dismissive as hopeful that he can just ignore Darren and everything will fix itself). Darren isn't smiling, so hey, no good morning for Scott, either.

Scott groans. Damn it. So close.

Rubbing his eyes, Scott decides that the universe gives no fucks for whether what's happening is logical. Or maybe it's just Darren, who defies reason.

"Sorry. I was busy hoping you were a hallucination," just slips right out of his mouth. Whoops. Well, he never claimed to be good at holding his thoughts.

"Is that how you greet everyone?" 

Angry alarms shriek in his mind. They sound like funeral bells, because Darren Cross is back for Act 2 of _Dysfunctional Families_ , this time featuring Scott Lang.

Hur- _fucking_ -ray. Startled awake, now, Scott decides that if he isn't dead yet, Darren doesn't know who he is, or what the Ant-Man plans are. Great. Why is he here again, then? Scratch that, the answer is obvious, it has to be for Hank Pym. 

Darren arches an impatient eyebrow at him expectantly. Oh right. He asked a question.

_?_

How the actual fuck is Scott supposed to react to that? Is there some handy guidebook on how to act when a villain drops in for a visit at six in the morning, or is this really not making sense? What is he supposed to do, have a little heart-to-heart chat? Fraternize with the enemy?

"Uh, so sorry, I didn't sleep well." Or at all. He knows Hank locked the door this time, so what the hell? "But if you don't mind me asking, how—" _do you keep waltzing in like this, do you even care that they do not welcome you here, sorry man, but you're just a little too in denial, is this even possible?_ Thankfully, Scott catches himself before he asks to be shot dead. Any deader than he already might be.

"...how did you get in?" he finishes lamely. _And how do I get you out?  
_

That's a normal question, for someone whose house has been broken in, right? When he went burgling, he didn't exactly stay to chat, so he wouldn't know. But this sounds like much kinder than any other shit he might have gone with.

"Same way you did, Scott Lang," Darren says his name distastefully, his tightly set jaw loosening to speak. He looks like hell, the hollows of his eyes dark, yet he's still dressed in an immaculate suit. A black suit, as if he's mourning. At six in the morning. Probably mourning his lack of sleep. He's scrutinizing Scott like he's an unsolvable enigma, but not the good kind. He's an ant under his magnifying glass. Hopefully, he's not testing the perfect angle to refract the sun's light and burn him to ashes. "Is that really a question?"  

Well, _that_ isn't a question, and Scott smartly doesn't answer that one. 

All in all, it's a really intimidating gaze. Scott guesses Darren is, indeed, not here for a friendly, heart-to-heart chat. Too bad, because Scott thinks Darren needs one. 

Belatedly, Scott realizes that Darren called him by his name. He really is wired and slow today. He straightens himself. "Wait a second. You know me?"

"The do-gooder Robin Hood. Don't get that over your head. You merely stole a little money from Vista-Corp, it doesn't make you a superhero," he says, lips curling into a sardonic smirk. "It just makes you a petty thief."

"Exactly," Scott agrees. He's not a superhero, nope. Then he frowns. "What did you call me? I'm not a petty thief. I was—"

"Refunding people their money?" Darren raises his other eyebrow condescendingly. Well, Scott sure knows who he got that look from. "What about the other cases? It's no wonder you couldn't get hired elsewhere. You blow the whistle on every little secret you run by. Hank's such a lonely old man that he gave a second chance to someone who's stupid enough to get caught for _that_."

And somehow, all of Darren's conversations loop back to Hank Pym.

However, Darren seems to have done his research on _him_. What does that mean? Is he suspicious of him? No, just very spiteful. He sounds bitter, frustrated, not wary.

Maybe _jealous_ is the right word. Scott averts his gaze to the frying pan, pensive and slightly puzzled. There's nothing for Darren to be jealous of. Hank chose him because he's expendable and can get the job done. Hank let go of Darren because—well, Scott's not 100% sure on that one, actually—the scientist claimed it was because 'things change'—but it sure as hell didn't look like he wanted to. He just didn't know how to hold on, Scott supposes.

However, that's a shitty excuse if Scott's ever heard one (and he has, because his own excuses are pretty weak too). Hank didn't have to leave two people who needed him alone, even if he wanted to save his wife. Scott can't be the father Cassie needs, not yet, but he can imagine how tormented and helpless the three of them felt when Hank just vanished from their lives. And maybe still feels. None of them needs to go through that pain of loneliness and separation, Scott thinks. 

Ow. It's too early in the morning for this. He shakes his head. 

The mention of Hank also reminds him that he has to get Darren out of here, soon. He's not sure how. Asking him to leave, no matter how politely, is unlikely to go by peacefully with Darren. Might as well get it done with. 

It's not like Scott ever wanted to work in the tech industry, anyways...

"I am not a thief," Scott says, returning his gaze to Darren, whose glare has been relentless this whole time. "I returned the money to its rightful owners. Seriously, if you're just here to—"

Darren keeps interrupting him as if Scott isn't already speaking. Are they having a conversation? Can he even hear Scott? What's the point of this then? If this continues, it's going to drive Scott out the room before Darren leaves. "As much as I enjoy hearing about your moral excellency, your defensive tirade is rather boring."

Scott huffs, miffed. He's not _defensive_. It's the truth. "Are you here to insult me, Darren?" Really?

"Are we on a first name basis? I don't recall giving you permission." 

_Yep, he is._

Scott represses the urge to roll his eyes at the unwarranted ( _well,_ _you kinda took the place of both Hope and Darren_ , some part of his mind reminds, but he swats it away) animosity. Darren's avoiding the question. He's probably here for Hank, again, and is irritated that he gets to see Scott. Scott doesn't think their meeting again would do anything but send Darren off running again. 

Hank basically told him he doesn't approve of anything Darren does, and he just comes running right back like a lost puppy, eagerly wagging his tail, dropping a bone at his feet to appeal to his master. It _would_ be touching and cute, except that happens to be a human bone part of a shrunken skeleton Hank had finally buried, and the lost puppy is a wild, insane wolf.

So now it's just all kinds of tragic. Scott doesn't do tragic. 

Since Scott has been dragged into this shit, he's not going to just watch Darren self-destruct with his daddy-figure issues if he can help it. And if Darren's just misguided, it's worth a try.

If he succeeds, no buildings will have to go kaboom, and maybe a Pym family dinner will actually happen without everyone killing each other. 

The tension in Darren is so palpable, it's sending Scott on edge, too. It's really fucking uncomfortable.

So Scott does what he does best when he's uncomfortable. 

"Well, Mister Cross." Scott flips a pancake onto a plate. He squeezes a happy face onto the pancake with honey. "A good morning always starts with a nutritional breakfast."

Darren blinks at the proffered meal. 

"Well?" Scott nudges the plate closer to the other man. He flashes Darren a grin that's met with an incredulous scoff. "There's your good morning. Hi, I'm Scott. Nice to meet you."

"You're unbelievable."

"Thanks, I do try to be hospitable, now eat up." 

Brows draw together sharply. "I'm not eating _this_." He sounds scandalized. 

"Don't say I didn't offer," Scott huffs, wrenching the plate back. Darren is nothing but animosity and contempt. Man, rich kids all have this mountain of unresolved issues. "And _this,_  thisis called a pancake. They're delicious. Not that you rich kids would know." He stuffs a bite of pancake in his mouth. 

Darren abruptly slams a fist on the counter. Shit, Scott nearly spits out his food. There's no way Darren would make the connection _rich kids_ to Hope, right? Then why's he suddenly agitated? 

In a forcibly calm voice lest he provoke him more, Scott continues, ignoring his rapidly beating pulse, "I heard you've got new tech. Tell me about it. How _you're_ saving the world." He means it ironically, but hopes it doesn't sound as much. The Yellowjacket isn't going to save the world, but anything to change the direction of the chat is helpful. Besides, he is just a little curious about what Darren think he's doing. 

Will he bite? Please do. Speaking with Darren is like walking through a fucking minefield. Damn, Scott really fails at keeping his mouth shut. 

He scoffs and pretty much orders, "shut your mouth when you're eating." 

Scott smiles at that. Darren narrows his eyes. 

"No, nothing, sorry," Scott says, words muffled through closed lips, but he does swallow before speaking again with a perfectly innocent expression. "Please do go on. I'm curious." 

_Do I need your permission to smile in front of you too, Mister Cross?_

If Darren were a normal person, right about now, he'd be rolling his eyes. Instead, Darren's eyes flicker over him, before he smirks derisively and remarks, "so disrespectful." 

Scott resists the urge to stick out his tongue and say, _I get nothing but contempt from you too_. He's not that childish. Or suicidal.    

"Businessmen are rather like performers," Darren says smugly, non sequitur. Scott raises an eyebrow, confused. "We prefer to show. It's much more impressive to those who cannot comprehend the idea of shunting mass and reducing the distance between subatomic particles. Then, perhaps, you'll understand that Hank Pym trying to mentor you is a wasted effort."

Scott squints, stabbing his fork into his pancake.

"What?"

Did Darren just insult him,  _again_? He's a fantastic programmer, and graduated with a masters in electrical engineering. Why does everyone think he's stupid? 

"It means you're an idiot. Now finish  _that_ ," Darren says impatiently, "and go to Pym Tech." 

" _What_?"

But then Darren's gone, so swiftly and abruptly, as if he's never been here. So the worthier-than-thou Darren Cross has decided to spare the little ant from his boot. Scott sighs, relieved. "You can't just come and go as you please," he mutters. "And they're called _pancakes_ , damn you." 

Scott chews, finishing his breakfast. He's washing the plate when he realizes, "what the _fuck._ "

Darren basically ordered him to go to see the Yellowjacket. And Scott has to go, because he doesn't think Darren's going to tolerate any more disrespect.

Ah, well. Maybe he'll get some useful intel on the building, if he's lucky.

Surprisingly, Scott thinks as an afterthought, Darren didn't react as badly to him as he'd expected. Huh. He grins. 

Maybe fraternizing with the enemy really can work if his enemy is lonely. Why else would Darren invite him, little  _Scott Lang_ , ex-convict, to see his fancy shrinking suit if he's got a bunch of friends who'll listen to him? 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, finally, something that's at least somewhat realistic. Hopefully. The behind the scenes, so to say, reaaaally sucked, as neither of the characters wanted to work with this scenario... Either too cheery or too hostile, lol :')


	5. this

After seeing the Yellowjacket, Scott Lang will understand how pointless his own efforts have been. 

The Cross Particle, to be used as the Pym Particle had been initially intended for before the project was shut down. Its destiny is to be _the_ weapon of war, of espionage, not some half-hearted attempt at propaganda. That's horrendous waste of potential, like having super-human abilities and using them to play backyard baseball.

Before Darren steps into his office, his secretary tells him that he has a visitor. He nods. Darren is always ready for business. Not that anybody ever visits for social calls. 

The doors slide open with a  _swoosh_.

"Darren," says the man, standing. "How are you?"

"I'm good, Mitchell," he greets in return. They shake hands and sit. "What brings you here?" 

Carson doesn't bother with more superficial pretense. Darren thanks him for that. "Hydra believes it's in our shared interest to extend our collaboration past the Yellowjacket."

The suits, impressive as they are, don't suffice in Hydra's eyes. They want more, and they think Darren can provide. Which is true, but can and will are two very different things. It's as expected, albeit Darren's surprised Carson is approaching him for another possible deal before the first has been made. 

If he claims it's not in his ability, then this partnership will be skewed into something more sinister in the end. Hydra will suspect Darren will offer any future inventions to another organization. 

The moment Hydra sees that risk in working with Cross Technologies, the deal will expire.

Darren is not stupid to let Hydra have such leverage over him. The formula--among other things-- will stay his, locked in his mind. 

"Ah. Please, continue."

"We were wondering," Carson says, inclining his head as he sits across from Darren, "if you have knowledge of Hank Pym's other projects."

"He is a very secretive man."

Playing ignorant does Darren no favors. However, Hydra is running on pure speculation. Rather, Darren thinks, it is Carson himself who has his personal speculations, and is simply using this opportunity to confirm them.

Hydra has nothing to lose, if they choose to believe Darren has more to provide; if Carson is right—which they both know he is, as they both knew Hank when he had been so eager in his scientific pursuits—Hydra will gain a significant boost in power.

"And Hydra is a very powerful and generous organisation," the Hydra agent counters. 

Darren smirks at that, tilting his head. Carson doesn't so much as twitch.

"We can provide incentive, should you wish to continue what Hank had abandoned." 

And indeed, that is rather _generous_ of them, to let the threat lie so dormant behind a pointless offer for further funding. However, Darren knows Hydra doesn't have the upper hand over Darren. They are trying so hard, though. Excellent effort, but it's weak before Darren. Carson may pretend that he knows of Hank's cards and his motivations, but he cannot trump Darren's hand. The Particle is coveted by so many parties, Hydra can't risk it.  As Cross Tech's greatest sponsor, Hydra has no reason to ever pull out.

But Hydra is not willing to concede with a simple 'no'. If they suspect Darren can work on Hank's other ideas, Hydra will take, whether he wants to give or not.

Darren does not like to be pushed. Hank's other secrets can stay secrets, because once Hank sees Darren's success with the Yellowjacket, it will be enough. Darren has no need to unveil the rest of Hank's ingenious ideas to the world. They can continue those projects together, Darren won't have to create them by himself. 

Leading someone on by bolstering what they already believe, suspect, is easy. Darren is willing to gamble with what Carson believes of him. Already, Carson is so prone to assumptions.

"I'm afraid your speculation is just speculation. No files remain of Hank's side projects from when he was with SHIELD." It's not a lie. Darren's expression ices over. "He did not trust me with what he had," Darren says crisply.

Carson's expression stays carefully neutral, despite the edge in Darren's cool tone. People only show nothing when they have something to hide, and Darren almost laughs. Pity and disappointment from a Hydra agent.

"I see," Carson allows. 

Carson is clever. His words could be easily twisted into a business offer, but the implicit threat is there. Hydra is  _powerful_ , and mercy to traitors is not high on its list of priorities. Obviously, Darren chooses the former. That is the nature of their business, how it functions. People are inherently selfish, that is what both sides trust in the other. 

"However, with the continued support of Hydra, we will do our best to lead humanity to a better tomorrow. My incentive," Darren says smoothly, lets Hydra believe he is lying (maybe he is, does it matter), "is the good of the human race, after all. That is enough." 

Any other man might jump at the proposition and try to wager, bargain for a higher incentive. There is no need here. Hydra will always at least double the second highest offer. All Darren needs to do is let Hydra believe it has its claws in Darren through greed. 

In the grand scheme of things, money is nothing. It controls lesser people, those who let avarice be their master, and makes them into puppets for those with grander intentions. And puppets are just as expendable as money. Darren learned that the hard way, learned to not value money so much, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. A reliance on numbers behind a dollar sign _kills_. The powerful have an abundance of assets, but that is not the only reason they are powerful.  

Scott Lang is _wrong_ to think it matters so much. 

Darren would be truly offended if he didn't actually know of Hank's forsaken side projects. But he does. He's the only one, and he wonders if Hank knows he knows. Knows that Darren's _still_ keeping Hank's secrets for him, even now, with this rift between them. The Cross Particle will decrease the distance between them, Darren is certain (hopes).

It is the only answer Carson will accept. "I trust you on that," he says, slightly dissatisfied, but not suspicious. "See you on Thursday, Darren."

Darren smiles and shows him out. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It makes me so so happy to read all your comments, thank you.


	6. should

 

Scott cranes his neck to examine the building, trying to imagine the people sitting atop those figurative thrones being, well, not. Not so aloof and stranded on the throne alone, swamped by gold that doesn't glitter.

Rags don't suit them, they much prefer tight-fitting Westwood or Prada. 

Scott walks into the building (freaking _palace_ ) and is greeted by a detailed painting of Hank Pym hanging on the wall. He raises his eyebrows at the painting and a younger Hank Pym stares sternly back. Alright, Scott knows the wealthy are always so damn arrogant. Everybody knows they're grandiose and shit. But this? Did Scott accidentally walk into Versailles, France? What is up with that  _painting_?

Someone skittering by nearly knocks him over.

"Sorry," the worker in a white lab coat apologizes quickly, bowing a little before bouncing off. The employees appear to be running on deadlines, except they're all proud and pleased.

Scott shakes off how disconcerting it is to see the workers all so glad to be here. 

It's as if they don't realize how horrible the Yellowjacket could be. Maybe they don't. Or maybe they're just too deep in the payroll to care. Scott's not sure which is worse.

"Morning."

The receptionist scans him over curiously, with a hint of wariness, like Scott's wearing an  _I'm a burglar_  tag, but she doesn't seem to recognize him. He adjusts his jacket.

"Hello. How may I help you?" asks the woman. 

"I'm looking for Darren."

"I don't suppose you mean Darren Cross, our CEO at Pym Technologies?"

"Right."

Her pink, glossy lips don't twitch, but Scott feels like she's laughing at him. 

"Did you book an appointment with his secretary?" she asks mechanically, scribbling something down on a note.

"No? But—"

"I'll refer you to her." The receptionist slides a post-it onto the counter, not waiting for a reply, and looks back to her computer screen.   _  
_

Scott shakes his head. "Darren's expecting me."

"You?" She peers up at him from behind her glasses.

He shifts. "Yeah. I'm Scott Lang."

The woman blinks, recognition dawning along with mild amusement. "Ah. Mister Lang," she says. "Please have a seat. Doctor Cross will be with you shortly."

So begins the wait. If he waits long enough and Darren doesn't show, Scott will at least have an excuse for leaving. 

***

Shortly, by Darren Cross' standards, is an entire hour.  

Darren somehow manages to look impatient, as if _he's_ the one who has waited for an hour while sitting awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs.

"You're here," Darren says brusquely, flashing the receptionist a hundred-watt smile. "Thank you for having him, Raquel. Follow me."

Scott sighs at the lack of greeting before smiling dryly. Apparently Darren's polite to everyone except him. "Morning, mine is great, thanks for asking. I'm glad you remembered me."

"I am surprised you stayed," he says flatly.

"Well, you wanted me here."

Darren's staring at him for far longer than is comfortable. Scott straightens his back.

"...You have something to say?"

"No," Darren says, and yeah, isn't this going well. He's not getting shot by any daggers from Darren's eyes, but it's awkward.

It's a great opportunity to look around at the very interesting displays they walk past. Yep, all lovely words, too bad Scott has absolutely no clue what they mean. He should, considering they could be weapons he'll run into. Scott makes a mental note to ask Hope about them later. 

"Nice place you have here. I'm loving the designs. Especially the, uh," he squints. "Heatseeking Nanite Carriers. Very cool. Think you could get me one of those?"

Darren looks inexplicably disappointed. 

"I'm just kidding," Scott says quickly, darting his eyes at the other man. No way does Darren think he actually means it, right? 

Darren looks away, heading more quickly to their destination. And Scott smiles self-deprecatingly, finding it somewhat amusing, despite himself. Who knows what Darren thinks of him. Probably nothing good. Well, that's fine, he's all about changing people's minds. 

They reach a separate section of the building what seems like forever, and Darren enters a string of numbers to let them inside.

It's a spacious room, all spherical and sleek, with a single vault twirling in the middle. Minuscule, caged inside, is the Yellowjacket suit. It's small and cute and looks like an action figure Cassie might have.

It's surreal how he's here and not yet a pile of ashes. Very peaceful and very nice to be alive, and hey, Scott's not complaining.

"What's it do?" Scott asks the question he's expected to ask, looking back at Darren.

Darren promptly shoots him in the chest. 

Scott doesn't even have the time to scream before the world expands, the sound of air sucking in tightly to make up for the missing space, vertigo wrenching him down into a tiny, compact dot on the floor. 

God, it's too early for this. Darren should've come another two hours later, because Scott will never be awake enough for the unpredictable shit this madman pulls out of the blue. It's like he's following a random action generator. 

Said madman looks down at him, and flicks a switch. He pulls the trigger, and Scott is Scott again. The familiar feeling of expanding brings him back up to meet Darren's eyes. 

Scott takes a deep breath.

Mhm. Yes. He'd really like to punch Darren right about now, but that'd ruin the whole becoming friends, defying plans plan. 

If that plan fails, he'll get to punch Darren anyway. 

"You shot me after I made you breakfast," Scott accuses, scandalized. "What part of don't randomly shoot and shrink people do you not get?" And, right, he should be more shocked about the whole shrinking part. "And did you just _shrink_ me?"

"You agreed to this when you came," he drawls, completely unfazed. He might even be smirking a little. What a dick.

"I didn't know what I was here for!"

"Didn't you?" Darren asks mockingly. 

To be honest, he's not sure what he expected, but being shot was on the list, right after 'vaporized' and 'burned into steak', because this feels a lot like deceit. 

 _It's not,_ he reminds himself. It doesn't have to be. It's not like it's a half-hearted attempt at becoming friends. Scott did wait a whole hour. 

"Man, give me a warning next time," Scott grumbles, not wanting to lie outright if he can avoid it. He's not spectacular at it. "And don't let there be a next time." Which is true. He doesn't want this, not a war, not being enemies. He's  _Scott_ , and everyone knew he didn't make enemies if he could help it. 

On the bright side, Darren's volatility might help him in accepting Scott as a friend. He just has to make sure it won't explode in his face.

"So what're your plans with that technology?" Other than shooting him in the face with it. 

Darren nearly rolls his eyes, nearly, like Scott knowing what the Yellowjacket is an unspoken knowledge between them. At this point, Scott's ninety-percent sure that Darren does know of the Ant-Man's existence. The thought isn't very reassuring.

"I'm sure the children will love it. Their parents can be their real life action figures." Scott does a punching motion.  

"Yes, and it even comes with a real life laser. Limited edition."

Scott laughs.

Darren arches an eyebrow, all menacing, but Scott doesn't feel threatened.

Scott  _does_ roll his eyes this time, and then grins, because he's figured out that somewhere under that facade, Darren's got a sense of humor. Great. 

"It's really cool, Darren. Very impressive. The power to shrink and expand something, man, _s_ _ounds_ awesome. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't experienced it." 

"Of all the people to be impressed, I doubt you truly understand."

"Then tell me," Scott says earnestly. 

Darren's lips twitch. His blues eyes are always so sharp, but now, they gleam brightly with something akin to excitement. "The Yellowjacket Vessel," he says smugly, "is the perfect weapon of war. We will always be ten steps ahead of the enemy through espionage and reconnaissance, and it is quite amazing how the smaller the weapon, the stronger its power. No one will have to suffer war because it will be stopped before it happens. " 

"Prevent war," Scott repeats. He blinks. "How will the Yellowjacket prevent war?"  

"With the upper hand, the threat of a defeat is enough to silence any possible enemy." Darren smirks. "As for ongoing battles, armies of the Yellowjacket can easily stop those wars. How could anyone win against a weapon the size of an insect, with speed and strength much greater than those of humans?" 

"That's...So you think the world's just never going to have a war again because of that threat? It's not that simple."

 

 

"Of course there will always be war, Scott Lang. Casualties are inevitable. The Yellowjacket will show the world that any resistance is futile. Eventually, they will bow down and accept that the future of warfare is controlled by the Yellowjacket."

"How on earth is that preventing war, Darren?" Scott questions, eyes wide. "That's threatening the world! That's making people  _fear_ \--"

"Fear is necessary for any lasting effect. It's essential to survival," Darren rebukes easily. "Why does any war end? Because people fear death, fear mutually assured destruction."

"No," Scott says, because he's sure. His friends back at the prison, they didn't concede to law because they feared what would happen to them otherwise; they did it because they wanted to go home to their families and lives without being hunted down. "It's because they miss peace and realize that it's wrong to fight, and that bloodshed isn't necessary." 

"Naïve," Darren cuts him off. "Peace is only secured when there is an obvious hierarchy of power and the most powerful ones command the world to stop fighting. Resistance is a sign of people who wish to waste their lives, those people will be made an example of." 

Scott is horrified. "You talk about people's lives like they're nothing." 

"You will understand once you see," Darren assures him. "Once people understand, there will be long-lasting peace." 

"Tyranny," Scott says as he sees it. "It's not going to work, this...monopoly over war. People don't fight just for the sake of it. They start fighting because they have beliefs, because of injustice, and there'll always be people who value something over their lives--"

"Natural resources. War suits. Alien gods. People fight because they want something, or they fear something, and the more powerful side always gets what they want. They always convince themselves it's necessary and what they're doing is right, and they don't stop until they realize they're about to be destroyed. I'm simply ensuring that the most powerful side favors peace over death."  

This is stupid. Darren has to see that this won't work, right? Scott groans at this speech of control, because that's what Darren wants: control. "Okay. I see where you're coming from." 

"Do you now," Darren looks surprised. 

He probably doesn't expect Scott to be understanding. But Scott can see, now, that Darren's obviously not out for money or fame, nope, not any of that usual businessman gimmick. He wants to do the right thing: that being, securing peace by any means necessary.

"Yeah. I get it. You want to do the right thing, I can see that Darren, and it's good to be trying." Really. A+ for effort. 

However, while Scott doesn't doubt Darren's desire to do the right thing, what Darren thinks is _right_ is concerning.

 

"And let's say it all works. Don't you think people will break under that amount of control?" 

"People who know will get used to being monitored and protected by the Yellowjackets," Darren says. "It will be a symbol of safety to those it protects, but also of fear, to make any potential enemies rethink their villanous careers." 

Scott would smile at that if it didn't make him grimace. God. Living in a world where every move is dictated by men in suits and monitored so closely...

"No, I don't mean that, Darren. I mean the people inside the suits. Not everyone can stand having powers like that. I'm not naïve, I know people get power-hungry and whatever. Those people will be a threat if they go rogue, found some anti-human colony. And what if the suits land in terrorists' hands? What will we do then?" 

Darren laughs sharply, amused.

"What?" 

"You don't realize," Darren drawls superciliously, both amused and irritated, ultimately deciding on amusement, "that America _is_ the terrorist for many places on the world. The only thing that matters is a way to stop war altogether. That's what I'm offering the world. I am the future of war: its end. The Yellowjackets will have a dominion over war, and full efforts will be made to prevent it before it starts. There are no sides, no we, no them—all's fair in war, Scott Lang." 

_And in love_ , Scott thinks miserably. "So you acknowledge the risk." 

"No risk, no reward. Simple concept, even for you." 

 

"How can you risk that? The world's fate in such an idealistic project—"

"All inventions have risk. Someone must be willing to take it, if we want to advance."

And that someone is me, Scott hears. After gaining this insight in Darren's ideals, he can't even blame these words on arrogance anymore. This is a twisted sense of morals combined with a desire to do good.  

But God, Darren is so brilliant and hopeful. He's practically grinning, with bright blue eyes shimmering, so eager. 

"World leaders don't go around using their militia for actual force. They place them on borders with a flag and pose for their enemies. If people are smart, they will not resist this call for peace."  

Darren must love the sound of his own voice. 

"This is really weird," Scott comments abruptly. "I mean, like, I always thought you were a businessman. Are all businessmen so...y'know?" He grins. "It was nice to hear your thoughts." 

Darren arches an eyebrow, lips curling.

"Even someone like you wants to play some heroic martyr, Scott Lang. You underestimate us. Not everything is about money." 

"It's Scott, don't call me by my full name, it makes me feel like I'm in trouble." 

And oh shit—Scott looks down at his watch. Panicked, he says, "sorry, I gotta run. I would stay if you hadn't wasted an hour of our conversation by being fashionably late, but..." 

"Hank doesn't appreciate tardiness, except for when it's himself," Darren smiles somewhat bitterly, but it's a smile, nonetheless. Scott returns it brightly. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," Scott promises. "This conversation isn't over."

 


	7. be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, huge thanks to everyone reading, you guys are so encouraging and supportive I am so glad to be able to share this <3 Also, apologies for the slow updates. Good news is I'll be posting at least once per week from now on!
> 
> ALSO SURPRISE! There's more Darren/Scott fics in the archive now! Check them out :D [Establishing the Connection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4706021) by [SlashyUnicorn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashyUnicorn/pseuds/SlashyUnicorn) and [Every Inch, Every Scar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4723535/chapters/10792778) by[ ChangingTheCircumstances](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangingTheCircumstances/pseuds/ChangingTheCircumstances)! <3

Darren isn't sure what to make of Scott Lang.

He doesn't even know some of Hank's most fundamental inventions in the scientific field, and yet, he's an obstacle.

Or, at least, he should be an obstacle. A minor one that will hardly be a problem.

Scott is supposed to be irritating and and arrogant, but a weak copy of him that Hank wanted to test out. Weak and foolish, thinking himself so very great, like the petty martyr he's tried to play.

Instead, Scott's a peculiar man who hasn't really tried to stand out, yet does anyway, because he doesn't quite fit in. He ducks his head and smiles easily and genuinely among people who pretend for a living, but doesn't silently bow down to everything that is said, either.

It's...surprisingly not annoying, his straightforward rudeness, cheerful playfulness, and awkward bashfulness. It's perplexing and paradoxical—how can he be all of that at the same time?

Darren grasps for a word to describe him.

Amusing, certainly. He compared the Yellowjacket vessel to a mere toy and focuses on the most whimsical things. But he's also puzzling and refreshing. Darren's lips tug unconsciously into a smile.

He makes it hard for Darren to be angry at him, because Scott listens, despite not having to. It's been so very long since someone listened to him simply because they wanted to.

Darren is respected and feared, which often are the same thing. He's the CEO of one of the most lucrative companies in the world. People don't bow to him, not exactly, but it's close, with their reverent (wary) eyes and polite smiles. Even if they might not mean the smiles the way Darren would like them to, such is most well demonstrated in the case of Hope—

Darren wipes his smile off, expression darkening. 

A pity. His contemplation of Scott Lang has thus far missed a crucial point.

He'd been fooled by Hank Pym once, so long ago. A fool for trusting him so much when Hank didn't trust him back. Darren will not be fooled again.

He's known that Hope isn't here because she wants to be, not for a long time. Or, if she wants to be, it's for all the wrong reasons. He had thought Hope would understand, since she is Hank's daughter.

But she _doesn't_ , because she is Hank's daughter. It's a very disappointing realization, and it angers him how Hope dares to be the one disappointed in him. Hope and Hank are bound by blood. Family is not a choice. She is only here because Hank allows it and Hope can't take back her vote to oust Hank.  

But Hope has been so dear, the closest thing Darren has to a friend, and he doesn't want to break this illusion, not if he doesn't have to. He still has Hope, for now, and Darren knows that things will change after he sells the Yellowjacket. Most days, looking at her is like looking at a burning, bright sun that's burnt out, but its afterimage still pains him. 

Scott is only here because of Hank, why else? This friendliness Scott's showing is a direct result of Hank's influence, nothing more. Does Hank think that a mere Scott Lang can change Darren's mind? Is that what he is planning? Impossible, it would be, to sway Darren's mind. This project, which revolves around Hank's work, is his life. It's all he has, all Hank has left behind for him, along with Hope. Although Hope's presence is more cruel than comforting these days. 

 

Scott is nothing, just a meaningless distraction. He's _nothing_.

Darren will allow his company, just for awhile. 

They say to keep friends close. And sadly...Darren frowns at that thought. Sadly? The concept of friendship is just another business exchange to Darren, one he has no interest in. He concerns himself with more important issues, plagues in society he can help solve. 

 

They are not friends. He needs not a friend, nor wants one. 

 

Certainly not Scott and his attentive, friendly green eyes. His fearless jokes. His kind smiles that are too easy to look at, and...  

 

 _This conversation isn't over,_ the not-friend said. He seemed rushed, worried about Hank's reaction. Perhaps Scott really was here of his own volition. Perhaps he's simply a good actor. 

Darren shouldn't look forward to tomorrow. If Hank taught him anything, it's that he shouldn't expect anything from anyone. He and Scott have different ideologies; whatever this non-friendship is, it's all temporary. It has an expiration date, the countdown to a disaster. Scott may try to appear mundane, but he isn't, and his track record proves it.

Perhaps he can persuade Scott to see the truth of his vision, to share it. Understand. 

He may not want a friend, but he doesn't want an enemy in Scott either. 

Darren exhales. Scott Lang will not be an enemy unless he proves himself to be one worth fighting. 

 


	8. love

Scott stares at the mansion nervously. He's not looking forward to the diatribe that awaits him.

Sure enough, the door swings open (before he even rings the doorbell) to reveal an incredibly unamused Hank Pym. Hope obviously inherited that expression from him (as did Darren because the resemblance is uncanny). Scott doesn't think he could manage that expression without breaking out laughing afterwards.

However, Scott does contrite fairly well. Something about looking like a puppy who just ate the last cookie and knew he was going to be kicked.

Maggie used to find that endearing.

"Scott," Hank says flatly, apparently heartless enough to be immune to the puppy face. "Do I need to regret not planting a tracking device on you? I didn't realize I was training a child who got lost so easily."

"Hey, I'm fine, I wasn't lost," Scott reassures him. It's quite a miracle he's still in one piece and being eaten for breakfast by a scary Darren Cross. Then again, while Darren has his intimidating moments, he's not that bad. "Darren just invited me over for a little chat."

"Darren? Are you two best friends now? Do you paint your nails and try out wigs together?" Hank heads towards the living room, leaving the door open for Scott to enter.

Scott narrows his eyes indignantly, then laughs, because wigs. "Nope, he's bald and proud, wouldn't even try them out. But we did make friendship bracelets." Then he sobers, meeting Hank's gaze. "We aren't discussing how to screw you over, if that's what you're worried about. Ant's honour."

Hank looks weary, but not wary, which is a feat for him. "I know. I trust you, Scott."

"No need to sound like it's an awful thing," Scott jokes lightly, plopping down on the sofa.

"Don't make me regret it."

If Hank isn't playing the Threat of Disappointment card. Scott Raises his Eyebrows.

Something very confounding suddenly occurs to him.

Darren has appeared in this mansion twice in a row without breaking a sweat, while Scott needed help to break in—and even then, he only got in because Hank let him. Does that mean he let Darren in too? 

Hank seems like the kinda guy who'd say "I know" if you told him something really ridiculous, like how the bite of a radioactive spider gives a human spidey powers.

In fact, now that Scott thinks about it, Hank definitely seems like the kinda guy who'd say, "I know because it was I who mutated the spider," with a sort of rueful but prideful tone.

Well, you never know what Hank has done in his shady government scientist days. What if he really has done something ridiculous, like mutating spiders? Ants, spiders, both very dangerous and useful, aren't they?

"How does Darren keep getting in here without tripping the security?" Scott asks curiously. "And by that, I mean literally tripping over ants." Hmm. "There _is_ security, right?" 

He's not sure what he expects for an answer. A key made of a material that automatically molds into shape of any keyhole? Some tech that corrupts all security systems without sounding the alarm?

Hank actually looks surprised by the question. Equally puzzled, if not more so. 

"Through the front door," Hank says, recovering before it gets awkward. "I'd assume that he still has the key I gave him. And use your brain, Scott. If he sees the shadow of an ant, he'll find a way to the suit. The ants stay out of sight." 

Scott blinks. Twice, for good measure. Are his ears malfunctioning? Maybe this whole day has been just a dream. But he supposes he's _almost_ used to the weirdness in his life.  

"Since you're in one piece, I assume you haven't seen Hope yet?" Hank continues like what he's just said is perfectly normal. "She's coming around to update us on the plan later. Your friends are--"

"Wait." Scott resists the urge to put his head in his hands. "Sorry. I need a moment." 

Nevermind. He'll never get used to this—to them, the Pyms and Darren and all the shit between them. Maybe that's a good thing. Scott'll find a way to fix things, unravel the tangled mess of emotions and whatnot.  

Scott has a plausible theory that the smarter you are, the less sense your life makes.  

"Darren has the key to your house."

"Is your head so hollow there's an echo in there?"

 _Same way you did, Scott Lang_. Well, Darren wasn't joking when he said that.

"But...he's never come over in all these years. Until yesterday?"

"It's none of your business, Scott." 

Oh, damn. "He is _so_ the kicked puppy, not me. You should take him back. Talk to him. He'll listen to you."

Hank narrows his eyes. "How on Earth did you reach that conclusion? What did Darren convince you to believe?" he asks suspiciously. "We don't have time for this, Scott."

Technically, Hank's had years of time for this, whatever this is. The man's just too stubborn to reduce the damage of the fallout. Which, case in point, resulted in the fucking _Yellowjacket_.

"Just sit down and have a normal conversation with him like you did with Hope," Scott suggests. "Darren wants to reconcile."

Well, he's pretty sure Darren does. He's done all that experimentation and then come to Hank's home to invite him. His actions speak a lot, Hank's just...well, maybe he's getting willingly deaf from old age. If only he'd get a bit more senile and sentimental enough to just forgive Darren and make up. 

"It's not that simple."

"Yeah it is." 

Hank glares. " _Scott_ ," he snaps. 

Expendable thief who's not really close to either Hank nor Hope (not even really close to his own _daughter_ for god's sake). Right. Not his beeswax.

"Sorry," he apologises sheepishly. "I don't mean to press, but I...yeah. Nevermind. I'm just going to the anthill. Tell me when Hope is back." He manages a smile. 

Hank shakes his head disapprovingly, but he doesn't seem quite as mad. If he is, he's not mad at Scott.

***

Shrinking and experiencing the world from a whole new perspective is exciting. Stressing at first, but once you get over it, it's fun. 

Right now, it's relaxing. The sun spilling golden through blades of grass, mounds of dirt tall like mountains.  

"Antony," Scott says to his partner, "do you think I can convince Darren to stop his project?" 

Antony's antennas perk up curiously. His black, beady eyes shine. He's probably wondering why Scott isn't taking him for a fly. At least, Scott likes to think so.

"I know. He's an asshole. But they all kinda are." Scott pets Antony as he speaks. "I don't blame them. I'll find a way to bring them back together." 

Antony tilts his head. 

"Yeah. Silly humans, right?" Scott muses. "But I got a second chance. Darren deserves one too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. i don't know what to say (sorry) so here have an update since that's what you all really want  
> hiatus is over yess i am back


	9. not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year, everyone!

"I'm happy to be invited again," Scott says sincerely, following Darren into the office. He's wearing marginally more formal clothes than last time—at least now he doesn't look like a gangster. It was amusing and suited the man well like the thief he was, but Darren doesn't like Scott looking like a thief. It's an odd contrast to his personality.

Although, perhaps Scott's breaking and entering habits are hard to lose. 

Scott didn't so much be invited this time as show up cheerfully saying they had an appointment for today. He's lucky that despite more pressing matters, Darren notified the receptionist to contact him should Scott Lang show up on the premises (which he did). 

Darren finds it oddly satisfying that someone else is approaching him for something other than business, scientific or journalist matters, nevermind the motives. 

"So. This is your office?" Scott asks, appraising the place like a curious tourist. All he's missing is a camera.

"If it isn't so obvious already, but yes, that's what the writing on the door indicates," Darren answers, leaning back in his chair. 

And the writing on the wall is warning Darren to not let Scott in at all. The cynical part of Darren warns him that inviting a potential enemy inside is rather inadvisable.

( _However, while Scott has a habit of going where he's not supposed to go, Darren has a tendency of letting the most dangerous people_ in.)

Scott nods approvingly. "It's nice. Back at my last job, I worked a desk job in a cubicle and we had the most boring meetings," he says, then shakes his head ruefully. "Actually, at my last job, I was busy serving ice cream." 

Darren raises an eyebrow. He doesn't remember reading that on Scott's file. "And what use did an ice cream shop have of someone like you?"

"Someone like me?" Scott repeats, a grin growing on his face. It made him look younger than he was, disarming in a way that shouldn't appeal to someone who works in weapons. "They were very lucky to have me," he informs Darren. "My master's degree is only one reason they hired me so quickly." 

"The other being they didn't know about your past at all, did they."

Scott laughs, unabashed. "Nope. It was a very tough job, dealing with customers so adamant in ordering burgers and fries..."

"That's rather depressing," Darren comments. "You'd think that Americans should be more knowledgeable of the trash they stuff themselves with."

Scott looks appalled. "I guess we must have our differences after all, Darren. If you've actually tried Baskin-Robbins ice cream, trash would be the _furthest_ thing from your mind."

Darren smirks. "I doubt it. It lacks the flavour of other refreshments." 

"I'll have you know there are dozens of flavours! In all sorts of colours, too."

"Artificial colours, yes. But then, why did you leave? I'm sure you wouldn't voluntarily resign from such a high-paying job..." 

Scott blinks, then smiles crookedly.

"Yeah, I didn't want to either...turns out? 'Baskin-Robbins always finds out'," Scott recites like the words are a motto. "Corporations don't really like whistle-blowers. I still stand by my point, though. It was worth it." 

The other man doesn't seem much chagrined by the fact he was fired for his history, for his deeds.

"Worth it to be a thief?"

"No--Darren, once again, I am not a thief," Scott says. "Just a good ol' burglar."

"Ah," Darren says, gaze sharpening. It seems that they have returned to the same path of conversation, except this time Darren knows better than to dismiss Scott's words. "Why are you a 'good ol' burglar'?"

"Well," Scott begins eloquently, eyebrows raising at the question. "I...I did what had to be done. Vista Corp wasn't about to have a sudden lapse in greed and suddenly start giving people back their money." 

"So you hacked into their system, broke into a mansion a few times--"

"I think you mean  _palace_ \--"

"--drove a Lamborghini into the CEO's pool--"

Scott groans. "Yeah, a random swimming pool beside his parking lot filled with fancy cars, my bad, didn't expect that--"

"A pool you could've easily avoided if you hadn't stolen the Lamborghini," Darren points out. "And I've seen the footage. It seems like you were trying really hard to cross the grass hedges around the pool." 

"Bad memory," Scott says weakly, then bites his cheek, looking away. "No. Yeah. You're right. I got carried away."

Darren watches Scott shift into a defensive stance, hands slipping into his pockets. All traces of cheer have evaporated, leaving behind a look of defeat and weariness. Darren swallows. It does not suit him. Seeing Scott so down is...uncomfortable.

Darren has done nothing but state the truth, and if Scott cannot withstand the truth, then he is truly weak.

A man who cannot acknowledge the truth that's staring in front of his face is blind, and a blind man cannot act upon anything.

Still, Darren considers saying something. 

But then Scott speaks, quiet but clearly. His green eyes do not storm with anger. Rather, they glint with a determination and intensity only worn from experience that startles Darren into silence. 

"I'd do it again," he says. "If it means bringing back those people the hard-earned money they worked for, the time of life wasted on a scam of a company, I'd do it over a thousand times. Hack into every system I can, break into every palace, drive every single Lamborghini into the pool."  

 

Darren stares back at Scott, feeling a new-found respect for the man. He sees, now. He understands. 

The realization doesn't quite hit him as slide to him smoothly, because this is precisely what Darren should've known. He's called Scott a copy of him, he just never recognized Scott's willingness to act. 

Scott and Darren are both top unique to be called the same, but they are both willing to go past the law to do what is right, what is best. Heroes are so often pariahs, aren't they? Darren doesn't use the law since no one does, and Scott doesn't believe in the law, despite his protests against being a thief.

_They do what they must_. 

Just as Darren thinks all of this, Scott begins to fidget again.

Scott licks his lips nervously, an awkward smile curving them. "Yeah, uh, so--"

"Scott. Shut up and sit," Darren allows, shaking his head with a soft laugh. Of course. He's still Scott Lang, foolish and ridiculous. "I never said you couldn't sit." 

Scott quickly sits down on the sofa. 

"I am beyond shocked," Darren says dryly. "I didn't think saying shut up was all it took." 

Scott inhales and exhales dramatically. For some reason, Darren suspects the breath is less of a humorous affectation and more a genuine show of relief. "Well, I can be surprising," he mirrors Darren's tone, his usual hint of playfulness recovering. "Thanks for letting me sit."

It makes Darren ( _almost_ ) feel bad for where he plans on steering this conversation. Which is unreasonable, because it's not as if he has any earthly reason to care about Scott's feelings. 

Except that he's been infuriatingly kind and interesting and acting achingly like they're good friends (— _like Darren even knows what those_ are).  

He doesn't have time for anyone. There are so many things Darren needs to do, and he's so close to success...

...

( _Or is it simply that no one has time for him?)_  

Darren heads to the coffee machine. 

"Coffee?" he offers, and plops three sugars in, staring as they dissolve. The atoms separate in distance, further and further apart. Eventually, the sugar will disintegrate into nothingness, and only the sweetness of coffee will last. It's funny, how for their whole lives, they've worked on shrinking the distance, but succeeded at the exact opposite.

"No thanks," Scott says. "I'm sure you brew delicious coffee though. Speaking of, how come you don't have an assistant doing this stuff for you?" 

"Are you offering?" 

"What? No. I'm—already working somewhere," Scott says, avoiding Hank's name like it's some cursed hex. 

"Believe it or not, but this is what I used to do a long time ago," Darren says. "When he was busy being brilliant, coffee was his fuel. As his assistant, there were two things I had to master. Understanding Hank's ideas and brewing coffee." His smile thins, but he does not turn around to look at Scott. "As Hank's assistant, you should know that." 

His words are accusatory. The bitterness he tastes in his mouth is fresh, even if it's not directed at Scott. 

It's directed at a man who's not in this room, who will likely never set foot in this room again.

Darren is tired, but not battered. Since Hank's so unwilling to do the world real good, it's Darren's turn now. 

The coffee sloshes in the mug. 

"Darren...if you don't mind me asking, why are you staring at coffee like it's the answer to all of life's problems?"

The answer? Not at all close to the truth. Maybe once, Darren believed; maybe he still wants to. But the formula devised by Hank served to do nothing but create rifts upon rifts, lies upon lies. 

He doesn't think Scott has lied. Not yet, at least. There's still time. 

He doesn't want Scott to have reason to, but Darren seldom gets what he wants. Hope thinks he wants too much, but that's fucking unfair and untrue. 

"No, it's the source of all my problems, you idiot." The words come out sounding more fondly exasperated than intended, which is a problem. Scott's an increasingly grave problem, albeit not one Darren had expected. 

"Excuse me?" Scott sounds curious, curious of something he has no right to know. "I think I missed something."

With the Yellowjacket's unveiling and sale to Hydra tomorrow, Darren can't afford this problem anymore. He should demand Scott to stay, tell him that Hank values pointless beliefs that are obsolete in this new age, point out that Scott's actions as some modern day robin hood prove that he and Darren are no different when it comes to wanting to do what is right. 

_They do what they must._

He shouldn't let Scott leave this building today, because if he returns to Hank...Darren doesn't want Scott caught in the crossfire tomorrow. He has no need to go down on Hank's burning ship. Darren knows that the Pym have something planned, they must. 

 

"Only thing you're missing out on is this coffee," Darren says instead, and downs the sweet drink that leaves a bitter aftertaste. 

 

 


	10. war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those still sticking around with me, my sincerest apologies for such a late update (I suck), and thank you, hope you enjoy! To new readers, welcome aboard (I guess)!

The morning of the big day comes. 

"Hey. Scott," Hope says. She doesn't sound very happy, probably noticed Scott's been unusually quiet. "One last thing."

"Er...yeah, what's up? And why do I have this..." Scott waves his hands mysteriously. "Ominous feeling?"

Hope scoffs. "You're not a psychic, Scott. But you're right. Hank spoke with me about you and Darren."

Scott wonders briefly when she'll finally call him by father instead of Hank. He looks at her sheepishly. "Right. He did."

Hope crosses her arms expectantly and arches an elegant eyebrow. 

"What?" Scott copies the motion, feeling defensive. 

"You look hesitant, Scott. You can't fight when you're unfocused or uncommitted. So, why the reservations?"  

"I am not," Scott protests instinctively, then winces slightly. "Okay, maybe I am. I was just thinking about what Darren said."

"Oh..." Hope shuts her eyes momentarily, like she's fighting back a groan. "What is it? Did he manage to turn you into another one of his minions too?" 

"Of course not," Scott says, mildly appalled that Hope would think that lowly of him. "I even rejected his coffee," he mutters. 

"He offered you a drink and had civil conversations with you," Hope states incredulously.

"Yeah," Scott agrees. "He's not crazy like you think. Well," he amends, "not  _that_ crazy, yet." 

Hope's other eyebrow raises. She nods understandingly, but her flat smile doesn't reach her eyes. She's displeased. Oh no. "He's either treating you well because of what he thinks will happen tonight, or he's about to murder you in a very creative way."

Scott blinks. "Tell me you're joking. " Darren's favorite past-time being murder is a very terrifying thought. 

Hope sighs. "You think he deserves a second chance, don't you," she says.

Scott also thinks he's not  _that_ easy to read. It's a bit disconcerting.  "I just thought maybe we can try to talk him out of it. I mean, with you being undercover...I just thought you never got the opportunity. But you've heard his intentions, right?" 

"Scott Lang, he's gotten to your head and you're letting him," she says.

"He just wants to do right."

"He wants too much, Scott," Hope snaps, then looks surprised at herself. She manages a rueful, sympathetic smile. "His methods. Sacrificial lambs, and God knows what else he's done...He's hidden things from me. Human experiments. His methods separate him from everyone else. It doesn't matter what his intentions are. You need to focus on what's at hand." 

"That," Scott says seriously, "is broken logic. I mean, I was a burglar. A good burglar, mind you, but still one nonetheless. I've been jailed, for god's sake. What's he actually done?" Er, besides vaporizing sheep, apparently. And possibly humans. Scott winces at that thought, but pushes it away for later. If there is a later. "The crime hasn't been committed yet. We can get him out of it, talk to him."

"The end doesn't justify the means. I'm not saying this to condemn you. We all make mistakes."

Scott's lips part, but he can't find a rebuttal. There probably isn't one.

"Do you think it's right, if you steal? You're still a thief, Scott. We do what we must, but there's a very thin line between what is necessary and what is right. Heroes are heroes because they do what they must without becoming villains," Hope says with an air of finality. 

Villains. Heroes. Years ago, superheroes and villains were just stories. Scott has no idea how the world spiraled into this bizarre universe, like he's living in some weird movie. Well, this is real life, it's not a stupid movie. 

"Be careful, Scott," she says, more strongly now, as if that will hide the pain in her voice. "Don't lose yourself, trying to save him." Her beautiful red lips curl up. "You think you see him, Scott? You _don't_. He's going to betray that trust you have in him, he can't be saved, Scott. He's not naive when he thinks something like the Yellowjacket can work. He's delusional because he believes it _can_." She hesitates. "Please. Remember that."

Scott blinks slowly. "Maybe he just wants to be noticed." 

Hope sighs, and it sounds sadly like a sigh of resigned agreement. 

***

Hank is in a suit, too, just an altogether different suit from Scott's. Hank smiles at him before he steps out of the mansion, which is slightly unnerving. It could be either a show of support or a threatening reminder how important this was and he'd better not mess up.

Scott smiles and nods, and thinks it's probably both. Hank is nearly as eloquent at sending mixed signals as Darren.

Darren. Scott hopes that after tonight, Darren will be able to recover. To let go and realize, well, the world doesn't revolve have to be that extreme. Scott hopes he'll be fine. That they'll be fine. Feels a lot like wishful thinking, on the basis that he feels a connection to Darren and has a feeling he can still pull Darren back from the edge (and not slip himself).

Scott grimaces guiltily. He thinks he understands why the project means so much to Darren. Damn it. If they had more time, Scott would have liked to persuade Darren to give up the Yellowjacket himself. He's pretty sure he could at least  _try_ that, maybe it'd work. But there isn't any time, the clock--more like the bomb--is ticking, and while Scott knows this is in no way wise, it's not like anyone's ever called him wise before.

Darren's welfare isn't actually and shouldn't be any of his business. Except this heist feels awfully personal, now, and not just because it's a chance to make up for his mistakes with Cassie and Maggie. It's because Darren definitely needs someone beside him. 

Truthfully, Scott's never really done what he  _should_ do, based on what others think. Just what he thinks is right. And for some reason he doesn't particularly want to think about right now, this heist feels like a betrayal to Darren. A destruction of all Darren has worked for.  

Luis pops out his collar and puffs his chest. "Man," he says. "Do I look cool, or do I look cool?"

Scott mentally slaps himself to wake up and focus. He's thankful for his friends' presence right now. 

"I don't think actual security guards are like that," Dave inputs, but he agrees that this is indeed one of Luis' better covers. "I gotta give it to you though, 'cause I've seen worse." 

Kurt makes a sound of agreement. He's clutching his nice computer dearly. And it really  _is_ a nice computer. Scott lightens a bit. 

(Courtesy of Hank, of course, who said, "if you're going to hack into the system and get caught, at least don't look like I hired you from off the streets."

"Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"We're using a suspicious white van anyways," Scott pointed out dryly. "It can only get better.")

Luis grins cheerfully. "You just haven't seen a cool security guard yet," he says. "You haven't seen  _me_ as a security guard."

Scott pats Luis on the back. "I don't think security guards like their jobs that much. They always get blamed first, so don't look so cheerful."

"Right." Luis sobers, nodding. He even salutes. "Gotcha. Scotty, let's go, we're ready." It lasts about five seconds before he starts grinning again. "Time to be heroes."

Scott's insides shrivel up a bit before he recovers. 

Heroes. Yeah, right. 

The thought weighs heavily in the back of his mind. 

***

Thankfully, with adrenaline (and other bizarre chemicals) pumping through his veins, Scott feels a lot lighter, and a lot more confident. 

"Are you ready?" Scott asks, patting Antony, his valiant steed. The ant doesn't neigh, nor growl, just acknowledges him by twitching its antennas and raising its wings. That's okay, because soon, a whole army of ants is going to be stampeding behind him. "Good boy. We'll fix things. Somehow. I promised." 

It's do or die, and Scott isn't planning on dying anytime soon.

With a faint laugh, he hopes Darren wasn't serious about the lasers. 

 


End file.
